


Wallflower

by anotetofollow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Gore, Confessions, Dalish Lore, Dancing Lessons, Drabbles, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Masks, Mutual Pining, Non-Chronological, Not Really Character Death, Oral Sex, Pegging, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Prompt Fic, Rough Sex, Sensation Play, Sex Magic, Smut, Temperature Play, Well of Sorrows (Dragon Age), including:, writing from lockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: Blackwall and Tanith Lavellan, drabbles based on the official 2019 Inktober prompt list.Trying not to go insane while the country is on lockdown
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Lavellan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	1. Swift, Divided, Poison

**Swift**

She moved so quick and fluid when she fought. Like minnows darting, like the lightning she called from the sky. Sometimes in the fray he would catch sight of her, staff spinning between her fingers, brow creased with concentration as she drew on power he could not dream of. Next to her he felt slow, sluggish. He felt it when they spoke too. Her words were swift and sharp, teasing, and try as he might he could not keep up with her.

**Divided**

“Knock knock.” Tanith rapped her knuckles against the stable doorframe. “Can I come in?”

Blackwall was sitting at his workbench, chipping away at a block of wood the size of a sea chest. He put his tools down and looked up at her, brushing the dust from his hands. “Of course.”

“Good.” Tanith had brought a bottle of brandy and two cups with her, and she poured them both a measure before pulling up a chair beside him.

Blackwall took a sip and raised his eyebrows at the quality, as she had known he would. “What’s this in aid of?”

“I want to tell you something.” Tanith saw how his posture shifted, tightened. On guard again. “Relax. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“I suppose that’s a relief.”

She sighed. How she loved this man who was two men. She loved the grim, stoic Grey Warden with his codes of honour and courtly manners; she loved the vagabond who slipped in when he wasn’t watching himself, all rough jokes and rough hands. He had secrets. That much she knew. For months she had waited patiently for him to gift her the truth, but still it had not come. Tonight she hoped to encourage things along with a truth of her own.

“I was going to leave my clan,” she said. “Before this happened.” Tanith gestured to her left palm, the seam of light glowing gently across it.

“Leave your clan? Really?” To his credit, Blackwall looked as surprised as the confession warranted. “Did they know?”

Tanith shook her head. “No. I volunteered to go to the conclave to put some space between me and them. Once it was over, I wasn’t planning on going back. And I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It didn’t feel right to be there any more.” She took a long sip of brandy. “We weren’t as cut off from the world as some of the clans are. I knew about the mage rebellion, I knew about the riots at Halamshiral. But I’m a mage. I’m an elf. It didn’t sit right to hide in the forest while there were people like me out there fighting to be seen as people at all. But the Keeper didn’t agree. She didn’t think it was ‘a Dalish matter’.”

“What were you going to do after the conclave?”

“I don’t know. I thought about joining up with the rebel mages who were there, seeing if there was any way I could help. I didn't have a plan, really."

The way he looked at her was almost pained. "It shouldn't surprise me that you had noble intentions even before all this."

"That's one way of looking at it," she said, chuckling. "Another one is that I intended to abandon my clan with no First, no protection. That I was ready to reject my history and my ancestors and the people who made a home for me."

"I don't see it like that. I think it was brave."

"You would," she said, reaching across to take his scarred hand in hers. His palm was calloused, grainy with wood dust. "You see honour everywhere."

"Not everywhere." And there it was. The shadow clouding the eyes, that grim expression she had been waiting for.

"Do you know why I'm telling you this, Blackwall?"

"I have the feeling I'm about to."

"Because it is the biggest secret I have," she said. "There isn't a soul in Thedas who knows it but you. I want nothing hidden between us." Tanith felt him pull his hand back and she gripped it hard, digging her nails into his skin. "Whatever it is," she said. "You can tell me. You could have told me months ago."

He looked at her, face stricken. “My lady, I can’t—”

“You never use my name when you’re lying to me,” Tanith spoke quietly. “Did you know that?”

“I told you I could never be what you deserved,” he said. “I told you to end this when you had the chance.”

Tanith released his hand from her grip. “I’ve never been one to blindly follow orders. I won’t leave without a reason.”

“Then perhaps I should be the one to leave.” Blackwall stared down at the floor, his shoulders slumped. Tanith had seen him defeated before, but never like this.

She stood, stepping across to his chair and tilting his chin upwards with her forefinger. He met her eyes reluctantly.

“You won’t leave,” she said, running her fingertip along the tense line of his jaw. “I forbid it.”

He leaned into her touch, resting his cheek against the palm of her hand. “I’ve been a dog at your feet from the day I met you,” he said. “You know that.”

She kissed him then, and those were the last words spoken that night.

When she woke in the morning he was gone.

**Poison**

They were travelling through Dwarfson’s Pass when the bandits ambushed them. A dozen men swarmed from the forest and fell on their party, their attacks uncoordinated and brutal. It was a short but bloody skirmish, and none present came away uninjured.

Sera had a scalp wound that looked worse than it was, the blood pouring down her face making her look like some storybook horror, and Bull had taken some heavy hits to his back and shoulders. Tanith was exhausted, one arm burned where a flaming arrow had caught her, and she leaned heavily on her staff as she tended to her companions’ wounds.

She came to Blackwall last. He had gritted his teeth against the pain, as was his wont, and so had not let on to the agony his shoulder was causing him. A wiry little man with a dagger had stuck him there before Blackwall had run him through, and the small wound was now radiating pain.

Tanith frowned when she approached him, seeing his grimace and the sickly pallor of his skin.

“Think the bastard poisoned the blade,” he said, nodding to the corpse of his attacked. “Coward’s trick.”

Tanith crouched down to retrieve the dagger. She lifted it to her face and sniffed cautiously. “Deathroot. Nasty stuff.” She dropped the weapon and limped over to Blackwall, pressing her hand over his wound. If anything happened, he felt nothing of it. After a moment Tanith let her arm fall and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It might be a while before I’ve got enough energy to heal properly. We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

Before Blackwall could ask what the ‘old-fashioned way’ was, Tanith had already got to work. She drew her belt knife and used it to cut away the padded sleeve of his tunic, leaving the wound exposed. It was tiny, barely bigger than a pinprick, but was already turning the flesh around it a sickly shade of green. Tanith didn’t flinch as she drew the knife across his skin, once, twice, opening a shallow cross over the cut. Then she pushed her hair back, put her mouth to the wound and sucked.

Blackwall drew in air through his teeth, as much from surprise as pain. Her lips were hot on his skin as she sucked the poison out, one hand braced against his shoulder. She lifted her head and spat on the grass, swilled her mouth out with water from her skin, spat again. Three more times she repeated this procedure, sucking poison, spitting water. Finally she straightened up and wiped her mouth dry with the back of her hand. Blood was smudged across her bottom lip, holly-berry red.

“I’ll pack it with elfroot for now and purge it properly once we’re back at camp,” she said. “Sorry, it’s not the most elegant method in the world. But it works.”

“I believe you.” Blackwall could feel the sharp pain of the poison subsiding, and a dull ache was creeping in to take its place. He felt dizzy, too warm. The sunlight slicing through the trees was blinding.

“Come on,” Tanith said. “We need to rest. All of us.”

Later, when the wound had healed, he would put his fingers to the web of scar tissue and remember Tanith’s hand strong and steady at the curve of his neck, her lips at his skin, his blood bright at her mouth. 


	2. Underwater, Long, Sword

**Underwater**

The note had come as the sun was setting over the Frostbacks, delivered by one of Skyhold’s seemingly interchangeable runners. All it said was;  _ Home. Come and visit _ .

Tanith had been away for almost two weeks this time, on some diplomatic visit to Verichel. As the assignment was more concerned with trade negotiations than chopping off limbs, Blackwall had remained behind. He had spent the days training and carving and trying not to miss her, and had broadly failed at the latter.

When he arrived at her quarters he found her in the bath, feet resting on the marble lip and a glass of wine in one hand. It was her habit to clean up the moment she returned to Skyhold. Tanith had told him that, prior to arriving in Haven, she had never taken a warm bath in her life — the Dalish washed in lakes and rivers, a cliche that she admitted to wryly — and this particular luxury of life outside the clan was the one she most enjoyed.

“Evening, emma lath,” she said, gesturing to a her desk. “There’s a bottle open. Help yourself.”

Blackwall poured himself a glass — something Antivan, smelling of blackberries — and carried a chair over to where Tanith lay soaking herself. For a minute he sat beside her in silence, drinking in the sight of her. She was beautiful in the low light, tawny skin beaded with water, the lines of her face shadowed.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

“Horribly.”

“Good.” Her lips curled into a satisfied little smile. “Come here.” She gripped the front of his shirt with one damp hand and pulled him down to kiss her. The steam rising from the water smelled of honeysuckle.

“I missed that, too,” he said once they broke apart.

“It’s a shame there isn’t room enough for both of us in here,” Tanith sighed. “I’ll see if Josie can find me a bigger one. Oh, could I ask a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Before the salon last night Leliana pounced on me and did this.” She gestured to her hair, which was pinned in a complex whorl at the base of her neck. “I can’t work out how to get it down again. She put some kind of laquer on. It’s dried harder than wood varnish.”

“Let me take a look.” Blackwall pulled his chair around so he was sitting behind her. After a moment’s examination he began extracting the pins from her hair one by one, teasing each out carefully and holding it between his teeth.

One of the pins snagged, and Tanith swore in Elvish.

“Sorry!”

“Not your fault,” she said. “I’m never letting that woman near me with a hairbrush again.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ve seen field maneuvers less complicated than this.” As he picked the tangled structure apart locks of her hair spilled out, the dark curls wild and stiff with whatever concoction Leliana had smeared onto them. After a few minutes of work he combed her hair through with his fingers and sat back, satisfied. “There you go. Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” Tanith drew in a deep breath and then slipped down under the water, bubbles popping at the surface. A moment later she burst back up, the movement sending water spraying across the flagstones. She turned to Blackwall and smiled, dark hair plastered across her face. “I think you should dry me off now, don’t you?”

**Long**

The letter arrived while Tanith was having a late supper with Cullen and Leliana. The three of them had spent the best part of the evening poring over a series of reports from the Bannorn, and they were all too tired to walk to the Singing Maiden to eat. Runners were always coming in and out of the War Room with some missive or another, so no one batted an eyelid when a young woman came in and slipped a folded paper into Tanith’s hand. She tucked it inside her coat, told Cullen and Leliana she was going to get some rest, and left. As she walked across Haven to her rooms she held a hand to the letter, keeping it close.

The moment Tanith got inside she kicked off her boots, lit the candles and sat down on the edge of the bed. She unfolded the letter carefully, making sure not to smudge the ink with her fingers.

_ My lady _ , it began.  _ I’m sorry that I kept you waiting. As always, it has taken me far too long to find the words… _

Tanith smiled to herself and laid back on the cushions, holding the paper up to the candlelight. So strange, this second life that they had. She and Blackwall saw each other most days, travelled together, fought together, and never once had they spoken about the letters. They had been writing to one another for weeks with no acknowledgement. There had been some flirtation, of course, some teasing — there always was, between the two of them — but they had not so much as kissed. Instead they did this; letters. Not something the Dalish did often. At first Tanith had thought it may be a human custom, this written courtship, but a few well-placed questions and a great deal of observation in the tavern told her that this was not the case. Tanith enjoyed the letters, though — she liked the secrecy of them, in a life so suddenly public, liked reading them at the end of a long day, liked seeing Blackwall after receiving one and remembering the words he had written.

The first letter had come the day after a night of heavy drinking at the Singing Maiden. Tanith and her companions had been celebrating some victory or other, and everyone was more than a little in their cups. Blackwall had walked her back to her rooms, as he always insisted on doing. A brief thaw earlier in the day had turned the ground in Haven to black ice. Tanith took an unsteady step in the wrong place and slipped, caught onto his arm, and before she knew what was happening they were clinging to each other in the snow. The warden’s breath hot on her neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. They stood like that for a long time, unmoving, pressed together in the shadow of the Chantry. Then Blackwall tore himself away, muttering some excuse before leaving. Tanith walked back to her rooms alone.

The next morning she found the letter pushed under her door. It was halting and overblown at the same time, just as he was, offering up a hundred apologies for his behaviour. He asked her to forgive him for his impropriety, his rudeness, his haste. On any other day she would have gone down to see him, but the effects of the previous night’s drinking made the prospect unappealing. So she penned him a note in response, and so their correspondence began.

Laying on her bed that night, Tanith took each word in slowly. She read the last line three times.  _ Tanith, I long for you.  _ None of her lovers in the clan had ever said such things. Their liaisons had been entertaining, even caring, but always somewhat pragmatic. She had never pined for someone, never been longed for. She had never lain awake at night, her hand between her legs, thinking of someone and knowing that they did the same for her. This was different. This was new.

But still, there was only so much longing one could take. Tanith found some paper in a desk drawer and wrote a three word reply —  _ here I am _ . In the morning, she would deliver it herself.

**Sword**

Tanith hovered inches from his shoulder as she watched him unwrap the bundle. “Well?” she said. “Do you like it?”

Blackwall took the blade from its wrappings and held it out, testing the weight of it. “Maker’s breath, Tanith. Where did you get this?”

“I had Harritt make it for you.” She tipped onto the balls of her feet, grinning. “Well?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen its equal. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Tanith leaned against his shoulder. “It has a name, too. Harritt said every good sword has a name.”

“What is it.”

“Edge of Elgar’nan,” she said.

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Elgar’nan is the All-Father. The god of vengeance. He leads the pantheon with Mythal.” She drew her finger across the edge of her vallaslin, on one cheek and then the other. “Mythal.”

He frowned at her. “Why do I feel that you’re doing me more of an honour than I understand?”

Tanith gripped his wrist above the blade, then leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Because I am, ma sa’lath.”


	3. Shy, Crooked, Screech

**Shy**

“Nice of you to join us,” Varric said. “What took you so long?”

Tanith and Sera made their way across the taproom of the Singing Maiden, shivering with cold, and they pulled up seats at their usual table while Varric gestured for more drinks. Bull took up most of the bench opposite him, raising his flagon to the elves as they arrived.

“Target practice,” Sera said. “Except not fair. Magic doesn’t miss.”

Tanith shrugged. “Neither do you.”

“But that’s just me. Not Fade-y, spirit-y bollocks.”

“Talking of spirits,” Bull said. “Flissa’s got this Vint brandy in that you’ve gotta try. Say what you like about Tevinter, those bastards know how to drink.”

More bottles arrived, and the four of them settled into a comfortable patter of small talk and teasing. They met at the tavern like this most nights and, while Cassandra was hardly pleased with her selection, Tanith was glad that she had made friends in Haven. A dwarven author, a qunari spy, an elf who’d spit at you for calling her such — even a Dalish mage couldn’t feel like an outsider in that company. With the Breach looming overhead and the weight of the world growing increasingly heavy on her shoulders, Tanith needed people around her who were happier playing cards and trading insults than discussing tactics.

Varric was telling a long and rather complicated anecdote about a Kirkwall brothel when the door of the tavern swung open, sending snow and freezing air into the room. Tanith looked up to see Warden Blackwall standing at the threshold, looking uncomfortable and slightly lost. They had recruited him a few days before and Tanith had found little time to speak to him since.

“Now there’s a guy who could do with a visit to the Blooming Rose,” Varric said. “Can you imagine living in the woods by yourself for that long? I’d rather gargle lyrium.”

“We should invite him over,” Tanith said, watching the Warden make his way to the bar. “Welcome him in.”

“What, beardy?” Sera said. “I thought we came here to have fun, yeah? Not sit about talking about… I don’t know. Darkspawn and honour and shit.”

“‘Darkspawn and honour and shit’,” Varric said. “That’s a Grey Warden novel in the making.”

“Look at him,” Bull said, shaking his head. “I’ve met Tamassrans less uptight.”

“So call him over,” Tanith said. “He’s part of the Inquisition now, right? We should get to know him properly.” She followed Warden Blackwall with her eyes as he awkwardly searched the room for a table, all of the confidence he had shown on the battlefield gone.

“Oh, I see what this is,” Bull said, chuckling low in his throat. “I think the Herald wants to ride a griffon.”

“What?” Sera frowned. “You mean… what, really? Him?”

Tanith sighed. “I never said—”

“I mean, not my type, obviously,” Sera continued. “But most of the girls round here get their knickers all twisted for the commander.”

“Or me,” Bull said.

Sera nodded. “Or him. Do you really fancy that one?”

“I just want to be friendly,” Tanith said, lifting her glass so her friends didn’t see her smile.

“It makes sense to me,” Varric said. “Want to hear my theory?”

“Go on,” Sera said. “This should be be good.”

“Freckles here is fresh out of the clan,” he said. “Big new world, new experiences. She wants a taste of this strange new human society. And you really do not get much more human than that.”

“Ha!” Bull pounded the table with his fist, causing several patrons to jump sharply. “You really don’t.”

Tanith laughed. “You’re suggesting a cultural exchange?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Varric said, pouring himself another measure of brandy. “Let me put it this way. You’ve eaten nothing but chicken your whole life, and now there’s beef on the menu.”

“Uhhh. That’s disgusting,” Sera said, seemingly delighted. “I’m never reading your books. Not ever.”

“You’re all ridiculous. Now, behave yourselves,” Tanith said. She stood up and called across the room. “Warden Blackwall! Care to join us?”

He looked over at her, startled. “As long as I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not,” she smiled. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

**Crooked**

He was an honourable man; she was the degenerate. That was the joke. Even their friends laughed about it, in their own affectionate way. He was a Grey Warden, a decorated hero, a righteous man; she was an apostate, a Dalish elf, an outsider. The contrast amused people, and her especially. Only he knew the truth; he was the one who was crooked. A punchline with no laughter at the end of it.

**Screech**

He didn’t often go looking for her. She came to him, or summoned him, and he waited on her convenience. But that night Blackwall felt there was something off-kilter, and so he went searching. Tanith was not in her quarters, or the War Room, or the Herald’s Rest. It was late when he found her, leaning up against a tree in the gardens. The night was a clear one, illuminating the walled courtyard in pale light.

As Blackwall approached her she held out a hand, gesturing for him to stop, and put a finger to her lips. A high, sharp  _ screech _ cut through the night above them, and Tanith smiled up in its direction.

“There’s an owl roosting in the tower,” she whispered. “I didn’t think they would come this high up the mountain.” There was a strange look in her eyes. Blackwall thought he knew all of her expressions; the fierce concentration in battle, the tiny smirk when she was dealt a good hand at cards, the lascivious curl of her lip when she wasn't yet done with him. But this he didn't recognise.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

She looked down, curled her bare toes in the dirt. "I'm homesick," she said quietly. "Creators, it feels strange to say that."

"Has Leliana made contact with your clan yet?"

"Not yet. They'll be far north at this time of year. Besides, it's not like we make ourselves easy to find."

"Once all of this is over we'll go and look for them," Blackwall said, then caught himself. "That is, if you want to."

She turned to him, a more familiar glint in her eyes. "And introduce my human paramour to Keeper and clan?"

"Assuming I wouldn't be pelted with arrows on sight."

"We're not so wild as that. But they certainly wouldn't be happy."

"Is that likely to become a problem?"

Tanith shook her head. "No. I stopped seeking their approval long ago. The only happiness I care about is mine and yours."

Blackwall felt his stomach turn over, as it did every time she said such things. "That means more to me than I can say. But they’re your family, Tanith. If you ever wanted to go home—"

“Ma emma vhenas, ma sa’lath,” she said. “ _ You _ are my family.  _ You  _ are my home.”

He went to her then. Pressed his undeserving mouth to hers, let her pull him flush against her body as her skin, all gooseflesh in the chill, warmed and softened under his touch. She caught his lip between her teeth and bit down hard, the pain a welcome provocation. A few moments tussling with strings and buckles and he was pushing into her, fingers clenched hard in the meat of her thighs. Her eager mouth drew bruises at his throat, back scraping hard against the bark of the tree as she hooked one leg behind his calf.

He lost himself in her, as he always did, half-mad and feral in her heat, rutting like an animal as Tanith urged him on with low words and sharp teeth, the world spinning when she arched into him. She held him tight to her as he crested, didn’t loosen her grip until he was panting into the hollow of her shoulder.

“I mean it.” Tanith kissed his forehead, his cheek, his lips. “We have each other,” she said. “That’s enough.”


	4. Gigantic, Run, Shattered

**Gigantic**

She came down with a force that sent them flying, her gigantic corpse crashing into the clearing and bringing chunks of masonry down with it. Blackwall found his feet, then warily stepped over to make sure that she was dead. The dragon lay still and steaming, the yellow slits of her eyes already clouding over. No matter how many times they fought one of these things, he could never get used to it. It was like stepping into an old tale, one of the fables his mother had told him when he was a child.

Sera called his name, and he looked over to her. The archer was crouching at the edge of the clearing, her hand on something crumpled and bloodied— 

_Tanith_.

He sprinted to her, ears roaring as he took in Sera’s fraught expression, the unnatural angle of Tanith’s arm. She had been far away from the melee, calling lightning down from the fringes, but the dragon must have collapsed the pillar beside her while she was thrashing in the air. Tanith lay among the rubble, her face covered with dust and smeared with blood. She was conscious, thank the Maker, but her eyes were wide and glassy and she shivered despite the warmth of the day.

Blackwall knelt down beside her. “Sera,” he said. “Take Bull and get back to camp. Get what help you can. Go. _Now._ ” They did as they were asked, leaving him alone with Tanith. She stared off somewhere in the middle distance, her teeth chattering. Blackwall took a moment to assess her injuries — arm broken, a long, deep laceration down one calf, probable concussion. She always stayed out of the fray in battle, keeping a safe distance while she threw up barriers around the rest of them. He had never seen her like this before. Tanith was not easily shaken, even when injured, but now she whimpered and twitched like a frightened animal.

“Here, love,” he said, shifting to put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re alright. You can fix this.”

Tanith shook her head twice, sharply. _No_. She was in shock, he realised, and would not be able to heal herself in that state. For the first time Blackwall felt genuine fear. He was so used to Tanith passing her hands over their wounded flesh and making it whole, it had never occurred to him that she would be unable to do the same for herself.

“Alright.” He pulled her closer, taking care not to touch her broken arm. “Alright. I’m here. Just breathe, love. You’re going to be fine, do you hear me?”

Tanith looked down at her twisted arm and yelped, squeezed her eyes shut. Tears cut rivulets through the dirt on her cheeks. She whispered something he could not understand, huddled closer to him. Blackwall took her uninjured hand and stroked slow circles on her palm.

“Listen to me,” he said. “We’re going to sit here for a minute, and then you’re going to try again. Does that sound like something you can do?”

Tanith licked her dry lips, nodded once. “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Maker, but she was a big one.” Blackwall looked over to the dragon’s massive corpse. “When Bull gets back I’ll have him chop off her head. You can mount her skull in the great hall.”

Tanith let out a noise that was half-laughter, half-sob. “No. Over the bed.”

“Or that,” he chuckled. “Though I don’t know if I fancy seeing that as soon as I wake up every morning.”

She had stilled a little. Her body had stopped trembling, and she leaned exhausted against him. Blackwall tried to calm the pounding of his own heart, not wanting her to feel his fear and be panicked by it.

“What do you want to do when we get back to Skyhold?” he said. “If we leave soon we could be back by sundown.”

“Long bath,” she said. “Strong drink.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Ma serannas,” she whispered. “I think I’m ready now.”

Blackwall took his arm from his shoulders and she sat up slowly, bracing her back against what was left of the pillar. As he watched she moved her hand above the surface of her broken arm, her wounded leg, her magic coaxing the flesh to right itself again. When she was done her forehead was damp with sweat, though she seemed to have regained some composure.

“There,” she sighed, her voice still a little shaky. “That should keep me alive for a bit.”

“Well done, love,” Blackwall said, holding his hand out to her. “Do you think you can stand?”

A ghost of a smile passed across Tanith’s face. “If I say no, will you carry me?”

“Of course,” he said. “Always.”

**Run**

He allowed himself one final look at her. She was sleeping soundly in his pallet in the hayloft, curled up under furs, the pointed tip of her ear peeking out from her hair. He tried not to think about her waking up in the morning alone. Realising he was gone. As he placed Blackwall’s badge beside her he felt a sudden urge to stay, to tell her everything, to beg for her forgiveness, have her arms absolve him of every mortal sin.

But he could not. It was not what he deserved.

He packed up his few possessions, pulled the hood of his cloak low, closed the stable door quietly behind him. He did not look back. He ran.

**Shattered**

Blackwall was escorting the townsfolk down the Pilgrim’s Path when the world shattered. There was an almighty crash as the trebuchet sent its missile flying into the side of the mountain, and the ground shook as the avalanche came rumbling down towards Haven.

He had wanted to stay behind with her, wanted to fight by her side until the bitter end, but she had ordered them to go and so he had gone. Two truths assaulted him at once; he loved her. She was dead.

It took every bit of strength in him not to break down where he stood, to fall to his knees and scream with the weight of his knowing. But it was not what she would have wanted. She would have told him to remain strong for the others, to bring the survivors to safety as he had promised her. And so he did, placing one foot in front of the other as all hope of a new life collapsed behind him.

How long they walked he could not say. All was snow and wind and pain. Cullen shouted orders and he followed without thinking, like the rank-and-file soldier he had once been. For months now he had been denying the way he felt about her, telling himself over and over again that her affection was not as it seemed, digging himself deep into yet another comforting lie. As they had celebrated the closing of the Breach earlier that night — _Maker, it felt like years ago_ — she had sought him out among the merrymakers, slipped her hand into his. That touch had been a question, one he hadn’t the courage to answer. He should have said something then, should have told her how deeply she was loved, should have let her lead him to bed and opened his wretched soul to her. But he had denied both her and his own heart, and now she was gone.

When they finally made camp he sat vigil on the outskirts, hunched against the driving snow, nurturing a foolish, desperate hope that she might still return. He turned over every memory of her, the pain he inflicted upon himself in doing so measured and deliberate. Tanith approaching him by the lakeside; Tanith laughing ecstatically at some joke in the tavern; Tanith smiling at him from across the stable yard, the warmth on her face a secret just for him.

It had been a mistake, to come here. Once the refugees from Haven were safe he would return to the wilds, where he should have remained all those months ago.

He must have fallen asleep at his post, for he was awoken by shouting from the camp’s perimeter. Most of the words were swallowed by the wind, but one he made out clearly — _Herald_. Hope surged in him, caught fire. Blackwall fought his way through the snow to where Cullen stood, pointing at a figure radiating green light. He did not stop to ask or breathe or think, just pressed forward until he was beside her, her body light and freezing in his arms but real, there, alive.

“Tanith,” he said, his voice shaking. “Tanith, I—”

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

She was out cold before he could reply.


	5. Teeming, Fierce, Mysterious

**Teeming**

It was a market day, and Redcliffe Village was teeming with people. The town could not have looked more different now than it had a few years before. Many of the refugees who had sought temporary shelter in the village during the war had settled there, starting businesses and families and gradually bringing the run-down settlement back to life. Now bright pennants hung from the shopfronts, the air was thick with the smell of food cooking, and the strains of a minstrel’s song drifted from the open door of the Gull and Lantern.

Blackwall took all of this in as he wandered through the crowd, Corin trotting at his heels. The mabari lifted his great angular head and sniffed as they passed a man turning a suckling pig on a spit, but dropped it again at a whistle from his master.

Blackwall caught sight of her at the edge of the market square, talking animatedly with an older woman across a table stacked high with vegetables. For a moment he simply allowed himself to watch her as she picked up potatoes and summer squash with her remaining hand, tossing them casually into the basket at her feet as she carried on chatting with the stallholder. Tanith had her hair tied at the nape of her neck, and the sunlight picked out her freckles and the dark lines of her vallaslin. The old woman said something that made Tanith laugh, and Blackwall couldn’t keep himself from smiling with her.

When they first settled on the outskirts of Redcliffe their weekly visits to the village had caused some whispering and raised eyebrows, but now the townsfolk were just as used to them as anyone else. People who had once addressed them with their titles now called them by name, and there were children in town none the wiser about their previous lives. There were some scars that would never heal. But there were others that were beginning to.

Corin began to whine at Blackwall’s feet.

“Alright, lad,” he said, scratching the dog behind his pointed ears. “Let’s go and see her.”

They crossed the square to where Tanith stood, Corin bounding ahead to greet her. She fussed him excessively — she always spoiled the dog — then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Blackwall on the cheek.

“Hello,” she said. “How did it go?”

“Pretty well, I think. Sold nearly all of this month’s stock. Even picked a couple of commissions.”

“Look at you,” she said approvingly. “Turning into quite the artisan.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Here.” Tanith reached out to the vegetable stall and picked up a large, gnarled root of some sort. It was about the same size as her head and roughly the colour of wet dirt. “Shall we have this for supper?”

“What is it?”

“No idea. Let’s find out.” She tossed it in the basket and nudged it across to him with her foot. He picked it up dutifully, and once Tanith had paid the stallholder he linked his arm in hers.

“Right,” he said. “Home?”

“Yes,” she said. “Home.”

**Fierce**

Blackwall was playing a hand of Diamondback with Varric by the hearth in the great hall when the shouting started. Muffled as it was he recognised Tanith’s voice, and a few of the nobles currently visiting Skyhold tutted loudly at her outburst.

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Varric said. “Should we break them up?”

“I’d let her at him if it was up to me,” Blackwall shrugged. “But her advisors won’t be too happy if she causes a scene in front of this lot. Might be for the best.”

When they entered the antechamber they only narrowly avoided the trajectory of a flung glass, which smashed against the wall behind them. Tanith and Solas were standing opposite one another in the middle of the room. Her eyes were wild, fierce, as angry as his were calm.

“You say  _ one more word _ and I will throw you out of this Inquisition,” she snarled. “I swear it.”

“Is that how the Inquisitor treats her allies now?” Solas said. “Ejecting them the moment they express a difference of opinion? Doesn’t that strike you as a little despotic?”

“When that  _ difference of opinion _ involves insulting my people then yes, it is how I treat them,” she said. “And you are  _ not  _ my ally.”

“Really?” he said. “Who showed you the way to this place? Who told you about the orb?”

“Yes, Solas, you did, and you’ve still not told me  _ how  _ you knew those things. You only step into help when  _ you  _ feel like—”

“Okay, okay,” Varric stepped forward, holding his arms out between them. “Why don’t we all try to calm down a little? Our guests out there love to gossip.”

“He’s not worth it, love,” Blackwall said. “Trust me.”

Tanith ignored them both, her eyes still burning into Solas. “Why are you here?” she asked. “I can’t for the life of me work it out.”

“Why am  _ I  _ here?” Solas barked a laugh. “Why are  _ they  _ here? A second-rate wordsmith and a consummate liar—”

Quick as blinking, Tanith slapped him hard across the face. The sound of it echoed around the room, sending the birds in the rafters fluttering.

Varric sighed. “Or, we could do that.”

“Nice work, girl,” Blackwall muttered under his breath.

Solas reached up to his face and ran his fingers along the reddening skin, brushing her blow away like cobwebs. His expression was still calm but anger crept in at the edges of his words. “And you always take such offence when I call the Dalish uncouth.”

They were quicker this time, catching her arms before she could fall on the other elf in all her fury. She spat curses over her shoulder as they half-dragged her out of the room, the look on Solas’ face so unbearably smug that Blackwall could barely keep from going back and finishing what she had started.

Once they were back in the great hall Tanith composed herself, nodding a greeting to the clusters of staring nobles.

“Sorry about that,” she said quietly. “Didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it.”

“Look, I get it,” Varric said. “The man’s an ass. But you’ve got better things to do than let him provoke you all the time.”

“I know,” Tanith sighed, running her hands through her hair. “But he makes it so fucking easy.”

“You can say that again. I’ll see you two later. Stay out of trouble.” Varric waved them goodbye and returned to his seat by the fire.

Tanith turned to Blackwall. “He shouldn’t have said that about you.”

“In fairness he wasn’t wrong,” Blackwall said. “But no, he probably shouldn’t have. Not to you, anyway.”

“What do you think? Did I overreact.”

He took a step towards her, leaned in close to speak. “I think that I’ve never wanted to take you to bed as badly as I do now.”

“Is that so?” she smiled. “Well. I must start overreacting more often.”   
  


**Mysterious**

“Vivienne said something the other day that bothered me.” Tanith propped herself up on one elbow and frowned down at Blackwall. It was early afternoon on a rare day with nothing to do, and the two of them hadn’t quite managed to get out of bed yet.

“Everything Vivienne says bothers you,” he said. “What was it this time?”

“It was after that dinner with the Comte from Tantervale. She takes me to one side and says, ‘there’s no mystery to you, darling. Everything is right there on a platter.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Frankly I’d take any insult from that woman as a compliment.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “She’s jealous of what you’ve achieved, Tan. Don’t listen to her.”

“Do you not think I’m mysterious, then?”

“Well,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “There are things about you that are mysterious, certainly.”

“Go on.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“The magic, for one,” he said. “That’s plenty mysterious to people like me. And you’re Dalish.”

“Ah, yes.” Tanith rolled onto her back and winked at him. “I am the last of the Elvhenan, and never again will I submit.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

“So what did she  _ mean _ , then?”

“She means that you don’t play her silly little court games,” he said, running his finger along the curve of her hip. “You say exactly what you mean, exactly when you mean it. Some people don’t appreciate that.”

“But you do?”

“I appreciate honesty.” He pressed his lips to the place where her neck met her shoulder. “And you’re honest.”

“That’s just a polite way of saying you agree with her.”

“Trust me.” Blackwall pulled her close, tried to keep the guilt from his voice as he spoke. “It’s better to be honest than not.”


	6. Fat, Graceful, Filthy

**Fat**

Of all the things Tanith couldn’t get used to about life outside the clan, the human concept of table manners was the worst. To the nobles among them, eating a meal seemed less about sustenance and sharing food than it was about following an arbitrary set of rules. She learned them, of course; ate things with a knife and fork which could so easily be picked up with her fingers, waited patiently at formal dinners for the host to be served, sat upright in stiff-backed chairs and remembered which spoon to use for dessert.

She much preferred eating with her friends back at Skyhold. Sometimes she would invite them up to her quarters for dinner, having food brought up and laid out on the chamber floor where they sat lounging against cushions by the fire. Tanith eschewed plates and cutlery and all other unnecessary accoutrements for these meals. They would pass around bowls of fresh fruit, tear up loaves of bread and roasted fowl, take turns swigging from a bottle of honeywine. This was how they had eaten in the clan, and it gave her comfort to share that with those she loved. Sitting there, laughing and licking goose fat from her fingers, Tanith felt far closer to home than she did in the vast dining rooms of Orlais.   
  


**Graceful**

“And again,” Josephine said. “Remember, you are not in charge here.”

Tanith frowned at her advisor. “Last time I checked I was the leader of the Inquisition.”

“In the War Room, yes. On the dancefloor, you follow.”

“That seems kind of ridiculous.”

“I quite agree,” Cullen said. He had been roped in to play the role of Tanith’s dance partner, being one of the only men in Skyhold with a modicum of experience in such matters. The two of them stood awkwardly, like clumsy adolescents, their arms stiff as they held the position Josephine had shown them.

“You both need to relax,” Josephine said, walking over and adjusting the angle of Tanith’s elbow. “The court will look well on you for taking part in the dancing. I would rather you abstained altogether than did it badly, but we must at least try.”

“Very well,” Cullen sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I’ll try not to step on you this time,” Tanith said. “Well. Not much.”

“Alright,” Josie said, raising her arm. “And  _ one two three, one two three… _ ”

Tanith made it a dozen steps before forgetting her place and stumbling, kicking the commander clean in the shin and almost tipping over an end table in the process. Josephine rubbed at her temples, her famous ambassadorial patience clearly wearing thin.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she announced. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Relieved, Tanith and Cullen dropped their arms and stepped away from each other. The two of them were on friendly terms, but not so friendly as that. Their mutual discomfort had turned the dancing class from a chore to something like torture.

Wanting some fresh air, Tanith left the ambassador’s chamber and walked down to the stableyard. She found Blackwall helping Dennett to shoe the spirited little roan gelding some Bannorn lordling had gifted to the Inquisition the day before. It always gave her pleasure to watch him work like this, helping out with the various everyday tasks of the keep. He was just as likely to be found fixing a broken shutter in the tavern as he was training for battle. His pragmatism reminded Tanith strangely of home, where all in the clan were expected to contribute their share, and the hahren might sew a torn aravel sail while he told stories around the fire.

When the men had finished tending to the horse Tanith strolled over to greet them.

“How is he?” she asked. “Bann Coulson said he was the best of their stables.”

“I believe him,” Dennett said. “He’s a halfway-decent mount, and Coulson keeps a shit stable.”

Blackwall laughed. “He’s more of a show horse than anything. With a bit of work you could take him hunting but I wouldn’t recommend riding him into battle.”

Tanith eyed the gelding, now snorting impetuously in his stable. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

Dennett wandered off to tend to his other charges, leaving Blackwall and Tanith alone in the cool shadow of the stable.

“How was your lesson?” he asked, wiping his hands clean with a rag. “Ready to charm the Winter Palace with your saltarello?”

“Hardly,” Tanith pulled a face. “It turns out I am uniquely awful at ballroom dancing.”

Blackwall raised his eyebrows at her. “Really? That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“I’ve seen you fight,” he said. “And I’ve seen you dance, for that matter.”

“That’s tavern dancing. It doesn’t have rules. I don’t see the point in a dance with rules.”

“Still,” he said. “The way you move it’s… graceful. I’m surprised it doesn’t translate.”

Tanith puffed up a little at the compliment. “You think I’m graceful?”

“I do, and you know I do,” he said. “You just want to hear me say it. What dance is she teaching you?”

“Castelli… something.”  
“The castellier?”

“That’s it.”

“Right.” Blackwall scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Do you have anywhere to be today?”

“Maybe. Depends what you say next.”

“I want to try something. Come on.”

Curious, she let him lead her up the back stairs to her chambers — Blackwall never cut through the hall for propriety's sake, though Tanith couldn’t care less — and watched in mild amusement as he shrugged out of his padded coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“Alright,” he said. “It’s been a fair few years but I think I remember the steps. Care to give it another try?”

Tanith folded her arms across her chest. “And where did you learn how to do this? I didn’t think the Wardens were big on dancing.”

“I haven’t  _ always  _ been a Warden,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Now, do you want to learn or not?”

“Prepare for your feet to get trampled,” she said. “I did warn you.” Tanith stepped forward and took his hand, placed her other on his shoulder. “Do you want to count or shall I?”

“We’re not going to count,” he said. “If you’re busy counting you’ll forget to dance. Just let me lead.”

Tanith smiled at him lecherously. “That’ll be new.”

“Quite,” he smirked, his cheeks colouring a little. “But give it a try.”

He placed his other hand firmly on her hip and took one step forward, the slight momentum pushing Tanith onto her back foot. Twice more forwards, then back, each time his steps forcing her feet where he wanted them. A gentle push at her hip and she was turning, a half circle that he halted just before she lost her balance.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Better than Cullen,” she said.

Blackwall laughed. “No wonder you struggled. Probably treats dancing like a foot drill.”

“And what do you treat it like?”

“Like dancing.” He took a step back and she matched him without thinking. This was more like the dancing Tanith was used to, the kind where your body knew how to move without you telling it. He was a current, she thought, an eddy in a river, and she a leaf on the water. All she needed to do was flow with him.

She held his eyes as he guided her around the room, her steps as light as his were sure, enjoying the warmth of his hand in hers and the absolute gravity of his expression. Blackwall released his grip on her waist, lifted her wrist and turned her, folding her to him so her back rested lightly on his chest. Tanith could feel the heat of his body, hear the slight catch in his breathing. She leaned back against him as he brought a hand to her neck, trailed it down over her chest, her stomach, brushed his fingers lightly between her legs.

“I don’t think Josephine described this part,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Leading,” he said.

Blackwall turned her, lifted her easily into his arms. She trilled with laughter, wrapping her legs around his back as she kissed him, her arms clinging tight to his neck as he walked to Tanith’s desk and pushed its contents to one side. He lowered her down so she was sitting on the edge of it, still feverishly pressing his lips to hers, still stroking his fingers over the swell of her hips. Tanith felt him tug at the hem of her tunic and moved to accommodate him, let him pull it up over her head and throw it to one side, hissed as he brought his mouth to her breast. She bucked her hips up against him, trying to sate some of the heat that was building at her core. For once he didn't capitulate, holding Tanith still as he nipped at her flesh and feathered kisses across her collarbone.

"Emma lath," she breathed, running her fingernails across his scalp. "Please."

Blackwall chuckled, the vibration of it thrumming through her chest. "If you insist, my lady." He knelt at her feet and began unlacing her boots, deliberately, punishingly slowly. She leaned back, forcing herself to patience.

Once he had removed her boots he slipped her leggings down over her hips, then tossed them aside and looked up at her. She smiled back at him, the spark in her eyes an invitation. Blackwall kissed the inside of her thigh, his beard rasping against the skin there, and she parted her legs to make room for him. He forged a trail upwards, the slowness of it almost unbearable, putting his mouth to her just as she thought she couldn’t take any more. She yelped, shuddered, braced one foot on his shoulder as he buried himself in her cunt, gave herself into the undertow. She had always loved the way he did this, how he was never reserved or delicate, how he worshipped her with shameless fervour. When her breath began to hitch he moved one hand away from its place on her hip, slid two fingers deep inside her. As Tanith swore he answered with a perfect curl of his hand, hitting something low and lovely that sent her reeling.

She gave up completely then, lay back and let him work at her with the passion she had come to know from him. It was new, to be loved like this; it was new to allow herself to be loved like this. There had been no lovers before who would touch her so, without inhibition, so keen in their desire for her that no artifice remained. Tanith let herself be carried, melted into the heat and mounting pressure, pushed back against him until she finally snapped. He held her through it, took her further along than she had thought possible, and when she was spent stood and caught her mouth in his, his lips still warm and slick with the taste of her.

Tanith clung to him, dizzy, ecstatic with release, laughing. She pressed her forehead to his chest, finding comfort in the weight of his arms around her neck, his solid presence. In that moment she promised herself one thing; if she put a stop to all of it, kept the world from breaking and brought order into chaos, a life spent with this man would be her reward.

“To clarify,” she said, when she had caught her breath, “is that what I’m expected to do at the Winter Palace?”

“Well. The court does love a scandal.”

Tanith slipped off the desk to stand close to him, enjoying the way the coarse fabric of his shirt brushed her bare skin. She leaned up on her toes and he came down to meet her, a kiss slower than before, softer.

“Is that the end of the lesson, then?” she asked, one hand finding its way under the hem of his shirt.

Blackwall shook his head. “That was an introduction,” he said. “We’ve barely started yet.”

**Filthy**

The dungeon was underground, down a set of stone steps that were slick with damp and lichen. Weak lamps hung at intervals in the crumbling walls, their glass panels cloudy with years of grime. Filthy. The whole place made Tanith’s skin crawl, made her want to scrub every inch of herself raw.

She descended slowly, afraid her trembling legs would give way beneath her. As she walked she wondered who she would be at the bottom. There was the angry, vengeful Inquisitor, seething at her betrayal; there was the heartbroken woman, ready to collapse in tears and beg for succour; and there was the lover, the one who cared nothing for truth or justice or retribution, who wanted only to hear his voice again, to feel the touch of his hand in hers.

He had done this to her. He had split himself into two people, and she had been torn asunder with him. For how could she love him, not knowing who  _ he _ was, and still retain any sense of herself?

She reached the bottom of the steps and walked towards the row of cells. There was the faint sound of movement in the dark, the dull  _ clink _ of chains against metal. For a moment she simply stood, frozen. Then she took a breath, let it out; turned to face her future.


	7. Cloud, Deep, Furious

**Cloud**

The clouds over the Frostbacks made shapes as they scudded across the blue. That one a sword; this, a fox; a throne, a crow, a flower. Tanith sat with her back against the ramparts, watching the pictures form. When she focused too hard on the voices they blurred together, like the murmur of a crowded street, but when she let her mind drift to other things they came through more clearly. _It comes. Close the way. He tricked her._

“Tan?”

So caught up was she in the whispers that she had not heard Blackwall approach, and she started at his voice. “ _Shit_. Sorry.”

“Are you alright?” He frowned at her, eyes creasing with genuine worry.

Tanith leaned forward, rubbing her face as though to wake herself. “I’m fine. I think.”

“This is about the Well, isn’t it.” Blackwall didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I’m having a little trouble with… a lot of things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tanith nodded, and he came to sit down next to her. They looked out over the mountains side-by-side, and she was grateful he hadn’t made her meet his eye.

“Apart from the whispers I don’t feel all that different,” she said. “It’s not even about that. Not really.”

“Then what is it about?”

Tanith pulled her knees up to her chest and held them there. “I left the clan because I thought the Dalish were ignoring the real problems in the world,” she said. “But it keeps coming back to this. Back to us. Elven artifacts, elven magic, elven gods… what if I was wrong? What if the Dalish had it right the whole time, and I was too closed-minded to see it?”

“I don’t think anyone could accuse you of being closed-minded.”

“But I _was_ ,” she said, biting back tears. “I thought I knew better than them. I was so proud of myself for coming here, fixing _real_ problems, fighting all the battles the Dalish refused to. But they had it right, didn’t they? The things we lost… they’re the things that mattered, after all.”

“I think this keep is full of mages and Grey Wardens who’d say otherwise. The work you’ve done means something, Tan.”

“I know. I’m just worried I lost myself along the way.”

Blackwall took his hand in hers, held it without demanding more of her. “If you hadn’t been at the conclave,” he said, “what would be different? You found the Well _because_ you’re the Inquisitor, not in spite of it. Maybe that’s how you were meant to honour your people. By coming here and claiming this piece of their history.”

“That’s a pretty thought,” she said, allowing herself a smile.

“Maker, but you scared me to death back in that temple,” he said. “For a moment there I thought… well. I was wrong. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry for that. A lot of people aren’t very happy with me right now.”

“Such as?”

“Sera won’t even speak to me.” Tanith’s chest tightened as she said those words. Sera’s trust had been a hard-won prize. The friendship they had was all the more valuable for it— and the betrayal Sera felt had hurt Tanith beyond measure.

“Ah,” Blackwall said. “I did suspect she wouldn’t be pleased about it.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

He turned to look at her, his eyes searching. “Do you think you’ve got something to be sorry for?”

Tanith considered this. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Well,” he said. “That’s for you to decide. It’s not for any of us to say what the right choice was.”

“I think it might be a while before I know that for certain.”

“We’ve got plenty of time.”

She shuffled over and leaned her head against his shoulder, stared up at the clouds overhead. A tree; a rabbit; a mirror.

**Deep**

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

Tanith kissed him, fingers stroking the sweat-damp hair of his chest, one leg curled across his stomach. She and Blackwall had been tangled up in one another for hours now, building up to this. Tanith had rubbed the tension from his shoulders, moved her hands down lower, teased him with tongue and clever fingers until he was unwound and aching.

She reached down and pulled out the box from where she had stowed it beneath the bed, shaking out her purchase from layers of tissue paper. During her last visit to Val Royeaux she had made a detour to a very discreet boutique — recommended to her by Vivienne, of all people — and had come away with all manner of interesting things. Now Tanith knelt on the mattress as she tightened the straps around her thighs and the back of her hips, gave the polished wood of the shaft a few exploratory strokes.

Sitting back on her heels, Tanith gestured to herself. “Well?” she asked. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful.” Blackwall lay with one arm pillowed behind his head, staring up at her. “Come here.”

She went to him, straddling his hips as they kissed deep and lazy. There were some evenings that went like this, turning into slow, night-long affairs that spooled out into the early hours. Tanith could feel him hard against her stomach— and, this time, he must have felt her the same. She trailed her lips along his jaw and down his neck and she moved her body lower, kneeling between his legs and nudging them gently apart. When her mouth reached his chest she bit down hard on his flesh, taking immense pleasure in the way he swore and shivered beneath her.

Tanith sat up, took the bottle of oil from the beside table and warmed it up in her hands, using a little magic to speed the process along. She rubbed it along the length of the shaft strapped firmly at the apex of her thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of him laid out before her. It never lost its appeal to her, having this bull of a man supine and willing in her bed. Tanith loved his strength, his stoicism, loved too how it fell away beneath her touches.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked, reaching out to lace her fingers in his.

“I’m sure,” he said, voice thick with need. “I trust you.”

That was enough for her. She spread his thighs a little further and angled herself between them, pressing the tip of the shaft to his entrance. Slowly, gently, she rocked her hips against him, the grip of his hand in hers measuring her pace.

“How does it feel, emma lath?” she whispered, easing herself a little further into him.

“It’s… different.” Blackwall’s eyes were half-closed, his breathing heavy.

“Good different or bad different?”  
He guided her hand to his cock by way of answer, let her feel the aching hardness of it.

Tanith nodded. “Good different it is.” She drew closer, pushing deeper, stroking him in time with the movement of her hips. Over the last few months she had learned the language of his body, and she could read his pleasure clearly now. It was there in the flushed skin of his neck, the way his fingers grasped at the sheets, the deep furrows at his brow. She took the cue to increase the pace of her movements, gripping Blackwall’s thigh for purchase as she fucked him harder, stroked him faster.

“Maker’s breath, Tan,” he gasped. “Fuck—”

“Stay with me, vhenan,” she said. “Stay with me.”

Blackwall moved with her, matching her rhythm, and she met his gaze as she brought him closer to the edge. For a moment she was caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. It was guileless, heavy with desire, his love for her written plain within it. Part of her wanted to look away, almost ashamed by the intensity of his devotion, but she forced herself to hold it. She willed a message of her own, hoped he could read her meaning as easily; _you are mine, you are mine, you are mine_.

Before long she felt the tension build in his muscles again, kept her movements steady as he reached the peak of his desire, spoke low words in her mother tongue as he spent himself. For a moment she remained perfectly still, letting him catch his breath, then carefully moved away. She extracted herself from the buckles and straps and came to lie beside him, pulling him into the circle of her arms. He wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled at her, his expression suddenly shy.

“Happy?” Tanith said.

“Always,” he said. “Always with you.”

**Furious**

“No!” Tanith brought her fist down on the war table, sending tokens scattering. “Don’t you suggest it. Don’t you even _think_ it.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “Please, consider what you’re asking. If the Inquisition is seen to be using its influence in this way—”

“Haven’t I earned that?” she snapped. “Creators, don’t I deserve to use a little influence in this? He’ll _die_ , Cullen, they’ll _hang_ him if we don’t get him out. I don’t care how you do it. Just get it done.”

“We have ways, your worship.” Leliana spoke from the shadows, where she had been watching the conflict unfold. “It may not be easy, but I believe we can have Rainier released into our custody with little trouble.”

“Don’t _call_ him that.” Tanith spoke through gritted teeth. “I know no man by that name. Do what you have to, Leliana. Please”

Cullen let out a small sound of frustration. “Inquisitor, I really must—”

He was interrupted by the door of the war room swinging open. Varric marched inside, with Bull and Sera following close behind him.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Cullen said. “We’re in the middle of something here.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to requisition the Inquisitor,” Varric said. “Urgent business. Won’t keep.”

Cullen frowned at the dwarf. “Until this matter is resolved—”

“The matter _is_ resolved,” Tanith said. “You have your orders. Follow them.” She turned to her friends. “What’s this about?”

“We’ll have to show you,” Bull said.

Too exhausted to argue, Tanith followed them out of the chamber. They led her down the steps to the courtyard, and on to the training ground behind the Herald’s Rest.

“Look,” Tanith sighed, “I really don’t—”

“Shut up,” Sera said. “Drink.” She handed Tanith a bottle of something that smelled like lamp oil.

Tanith didn’t need to be told twice. Her head was spinning, her body ached, and oblivion didn’t sound like too bad an idea just them. She took two long swigs of the brew, coughed, and took another.

Sera took the bottle back. “Right. Next bit.”

This time Varric stepped forward, presenting Tanith with one of the heavy quarterstaffs the recruits used for training.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, taking it from him.

“You hit me,” Bull said, pointing at the vast barrel of his chest. “As hard as you can.”

Tanith wasn’t sure whether he was joking. She glanced at Varric and Sera, both of whom nodded enthusiastically.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you really want to hit something right now,” Bull said. “In my experience that’s not an urge you should fight.”

“I tried to make him a beard out of horsehair and stuff,” Sera said. “Thought it might be more realistic, yeah?”

“I told her that might be a little much,” Varric said.

“Whatever. You’re no fun.”

Tanith had been about to protest, but the she realised the truth of it; she _did_ want to hit something. In fact, she wanted to do that more than anything else in the world. She looked up at Bull. “You sure?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “No offence, Boss, but I’ve got toes that weigh more than you. Go wild.”

Tanith widened her stance, swung the staff back and brought it crashing into Bull’s chest. It was like hitting a rock face. He didn’t flinch.

“Again!”

She hit him again, this time letting out a strangled cry as she did so.

“Good!” he said. “Good! Now drink.”

It went down easier this time. Tanith placed the bottle down in the grass and aimed another blow at the qunari, this one so violent that it jarred all the bones in her body.

“How’re you feeling, Freckles?” Varric asked. “Any better?”

“Not yet,” Tanith said. “Let’s keep trying.”

Things went on like that for a while. Tanith would drink, then swing the staff until her arms were burning, then drink again. All the while she thought of him. Waking up alone to nothing but a note and a dead man’s heirloom, seeing him climb up the steps of the gallows, the way he couldn’t even look at her as he knelt on the floor of his cell.

Drink. _Thom Rainier_. Hit. _He lied._ Drink. _He left me_. Hit. _I love him._

She began to cry wordlessly as she lashed out, and to their credit her friends said nothing. They stood there as she wept and raged and screamed, let her purge her furious heart into the night. She swung the staff again and it splintered on impact, cracking in two where it connected with Bull’s chest. Tanith flung it to one side and dropped to her knees. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed helplessly, too wretched to care any longer.

Varric came first. He offered no words of comfort, knowing that there were none to give, just knelt beside her and put his arms around her shoulders. Sera followed, her grip awkward but sincere. Bull was last, closing the chain, the mass of him a barrier against the world outside. The three of them stayed like that for a long time, clinging onto Tanith until her crying finally subsided, and afterwards they never spoke of it again. Later, when all was well, she loved them more for that than anything.


	8. Trail, Juicy, Blind

**Trail**

“Are we nearly there?” Blackwall asked.

“Almost.” Tanith squeezed his hand. “Just a little further.”

That morning they had travelled to the Hinterlands at her insistence, and when they were halfway up the trail in the southern hills Tanith had told him to close his eyes. Navigating the rocky path was difficult without seeing where he could place his feet, and though she led him forward by the hand he was concerned for her. It had been less than a month since she had lost her arm, and she had not been herself since. There were nights when she would wake screaming and would not calm, days spent staring out across the mountains without saying a word, outbursts of vicious anger. Blackwall comforted her as best he could, but often she barely seemed to realise he was there. Her request that they visit the Hinterlands was the first time he had seen a glimmer of the old Tanith in weeks, and so he had accompanied her gladly.

Blackwall felt boards creak beneath his feet as she led him on, heard the sound of rushing water. A few steps more and she stopped him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“We’re here,” she said. "Open your eyes.”

They were standing on the shore of a lake, the still surface reflecting the clear sky above it. Clusters of reeds and blood lotus swayed in the wind, the murmuring of the trees the only sound. A tumbledown cabin stood to one side of them and a wooden jetty crossed the water on the other.

“Do you know where we are?” Tanith asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Lake Luthias. I was standing right here the first time I met you.”

Years ago. Blackwall remembered the irritation he had felt when the strange band of travellers had interrupted his training that day, how he had softened when the pretty elf who led them explained that they wished to recruit him to their cause. So much had changed. They had saved the world together, at a price. He with a black mark against his honour, grey in his hair and a few more scars; she without her arm, blank-eyed, still hearing whispers in the night.

For a moment they simply looked out across the lake together, listening to the birds and the gentle lapping of the water.

“I bought it,” Tanith said at last.

“What?”

“I bought it,” she repeated. “The lake. Arl Teagan was selling some land to pay for the rebuilding effort. So I bought it.”

Blackwall wasn’t sure how to respond. Whatever he had expected her to say, that she had used the remainder of her Inquisition funds to purchase a lake had not been high on the list. Tanith turned around and walked to the cabin, placed her hand on the lopsided doorframe.

“It needs fixing up,” she said. “But we could do that easily. Well, you could. I can sit there and say encouraging things while you work.” There was a manic edge to her voice, a desperation in her eyes as she looked at him. “What do you think?”

A quiet cabin on the lake shore, a peaceful life with the woman he loved. He walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You know there’s nothing I want more than this,” he said. “But you told me there were things you needed to do first. You wanted to visit your clan, see through the peace treaties. If that’s changed…”

He could tell from the tension in her jaw that she was struggling to fight back tears. Tanith’s hand went unconsciously to her arm, now severed above the elbow. “I’m afraid,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was going to die in that place, Blackwall. I want to do those things, and I will, one day, but now… I need some peace. I need some time.” She blinked hard, and the tears came rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, love.” He put his arms around her, let her cry into his chest. “If this is what you truly want, then nothing would make me happier. You don’t owe the world any more than you’ve given.”

“I feel weak,” she said, stepping back from him and wiping her cheeks dry. “Giving up now.”

“This isn’t giving up, Tan. You need to rest. We both do.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re right. Thank you, vhenan.”

Blackwall looked over the dilapidated frame of the cabin. “It definitely needs work,” he said. “But the foundation looks solid. I’m sure Dennet wouldn’t mind hauling some timber up from the farm.”

Tanith smiled at him then, and suddenly there she was. The woman he had lost that awful day by the eluvian, who had come back a broken shadow. It was like seeing a spark in the cold ashes of a fire.

“It’s good to have you back,” he said.

Tanith put her arm around his waist, looked out at the water. “It’s good to be home.”

**Juicy**

It was a rare fine day in Haven, the air almost warm as the sun shone blindingly off banks of snow. If it were not for the Breach tearing across the sky the view would almost be pleasant.

Blackwall had taken advantage of the clement weather to walk the boundaries of the town, enjoying the crisp air and the clean smell of the pines. He was heading back across the courtyard when he heard someone call his name. He turned around to see the Herald sitting on an upturned crate outside her quarters, her back up against the wooden wall. Her feet were bare, and she basked like a cat in her small patch of sun.

“Mistress Lavellan,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Isn’t it?” she smiled. “Care to join me?”

Blackwall could think of no polite way to refuse, so he pulled up another crate and sat down opposite her. “Is there something you need?”

“Not particularly. Just want to see how you’re settling in. Here.” She picked up a bowl from beside her seat and offered it to him. It was full of ripe peaches, an unseasonal delicacy. “Help yourself. Some merchant brought them from Orlais.”

“I’ll have to decline,” he said. “There’s really no elegant way to eat those.”

“There isn’t,” she laughed. “Especially not with a beard like that. I hope you’ll forgive me but I’ve had nothing but dry rations for a week.” She took one of the peaches and bit into it, juice spilling down her wrist. “Creators, but that’s good. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, placing the bowl back on the ground. “So. The Inquisition has a Grey Warden now. Very impressive.”

“I don’t know about ‘impressive’,” he said, feeling the same pang of guilt he always did when assuming the title.

The Herald tutted at him. “Please. Even the Dalish tell stories about the Grey Wardens. No other shemlen order gets that kind of treatment.”

“That’s flattering,” he said. “I traded with a Dalish clan, once or twice, when I was travelling in the east. They did look kindly on the Wardens.”

“Sounds like one of the more open clans. Others would have put an arrow through you on sight.” She took another bite of the peach, licked the nectar from her lips.

It took Blackwall a moment too long to speak. “Really?”

“Oh yes. Not my clan, though. We were about as close to cosmopolitan as the Dalish get. Very little murder.”

“I’ll admit, that’s a relief,” Blackwall said. For a moment he considered his next words, wondering whether he should share them with her. “One of their traders taught me a little elvish. A greeting.”

She crossed her legs at the ankle, beaming. “Will you try it out on me? I warn you though, there’s a chance you actually learned to say ‘I am an ugly human who smells like halla shit’.”

“I’ll trust you to correct me if that’s the case,” he chuckled. It took him a moment’s concentration to remember the words. “Andaran… atash’in? Is that right?”

“Andaran  _ atish’an _ ,” she said.

“A _ tish’an _ .”

“There you go. That’s our formal greeting, for guests and what have you. Means ‘enter this place in peace’.”

“Very poetic.”

“Elvish usually is,” she smiled. “Now, if you were greeting  _ me  _ you’d say  _ aneth ara _ .”

“What does that mean?”

The Herald took another bite of the peach and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure there’s a direct translation. Something like ‘my safe place’. It’s the one we use with friends.”

“I see.” Blackwall was quiet for a long time, looking down at the pebbles and snowmelt on the floor.

“Something I said?” Her voice was gentle.

When Blackwall met her eyes he allowed himself to admit that he found her beautiful. Keen, sharp features, freckles spattering the bridge of her nose, the plump curl of her lip. He had barely spoken to a woman for years, let alone one who looked like the Herald. It was a monumental effort to remember how to hold a conversation.

“It’s just... been a while since anyone’s called me a friend,” he said.

The look she gave him then was curious, sympathy and affection and something else he couldn’t name. “It must have been lonely, travelling out there by yourself for so long.”

“At times, of course. But you get used to it.”

“And now you have to get used to me instead.” She winked at him, just a flicker of her eyelid, as she finished the last bite of the fruit. Juice covered her hand to the wrist, and as Blackwall watched she licked it from her palm, her knuckles, sucked her fingers clean. The sight of it made him as tense as she appeared calm.

The Herald threw the stone into the snow and got to her feet. “I’m afraid I have work to do,” she said. “But we should continue this another time.”

“I’d like that, Mistress Lavellan.”

“It’s Tanith,” she said. “Please.”

She left him there in the waning sunlight, and it was a moment before he had gathered himself enough to stand. As he walked back to the stables he tried not to think about what her skin would taste like, how her fingers would feel in his mouth, the sticky sweetness of her lips.

**Blind**

As she waited for news from Val Royeaux, Tanith Lavellen made a list.

She thought back to every conversation they had ever had, every story he had ever told, every suggestion he had ever made. Piece by piece she unpicked them, finding the kernels of truth within the lies, saw how he had managed to maintain the ruse.

He had tried to tell her many times, in not so many words; she could see that now. For the longest time she had not understood how he could profess his feelings for her as he did and still work so hard to stay away. Now it was clear. A misguided attempt to protect her. Perhaps she should have listened.

But no, she had pushed and pushed and pushed until he gave way to her, and in doing so laid the groundwork for her own heartbreak. All she had ever seen was a good man who loved her, and was blind to the rest.  _ Had that ever been true?  _ she wondered.  _ Could it still be true? _

She stood on the balcony in her quarters, and made her list, and did not stop until there was a knock at her door.


	9. Ship, Squeak, Climb

**Ship**

_ Tanith, _

_ I’m writing this from the deck of the Antivan Princess. The ship is less of a beauty than the name implies, though the captain gave me passage for cheap and I’m almost certain no one will try and rob me this time. I’ve had word that one of my old company has set up in Ostwick, so that’s where I’m heading next. _

_ I had hoped to be back in Skyhold by the end of the summer, but I don’t think it’s likely now. I’m sorry, Tan — you know that this is something I need to do. I promised you a life with an honest man, and I won’t come home until I’ve made good on that. _

_ Maker, but I miss you. News of the Inquisition is easy to come by, thankfully, and near every day I hear another tale about your adventures. It’s hard to tell which ones are true and which are Varric’s wild rumours gone astray. When I come back you can help me sort fact from fiction. _

_ This journey has been a lonely one, and less satisfying than I had hoped. I suppose that’s appropriate — penance isn’t meant to be enjoyable. But I get through each day knowing that once it’s done I can come back to you, and wake up every morning by your side. I’ve demanded so much patience from you, Tan, and here I am asking for more. I swear to you that once this is done I’ll spend the rest of our lives making up for it. _

_ I love you. _

_ Yours, always _

_ Blackwall _

**Squeak**

Of all the Inquisition members Tanith thought she would remain friends with, Cullen was not one of them. Time had been good to the Commander, however; once the Inquisition was disbanded he retired from the military life and opened a sanctuary for former Templars outside Highever, a vocation which suited him perfectly. He had met and married a good woman, and had lost much of the stiffness that Tanith had once found so unappealing.

He called in on them unexpectedly one morning in late spring. Cullen was travelling to meet a new benefactor in Redcliffe and took a small detour to visit their Hinterlands cabin. They welcomed him in, Tanith fussing Cullen’s mabari excessively while Blackwall boiled water for tea. It was a warm day, bright and clear, and the three of them sat on the shore of Lake Luthias as they caught each other up with the events of the past years.

“I hadn’t expected so much support from the Chantry,” Cullen said, “but I believe Divine Victoria has pressed her influence in some quarters.”

“Leliana still interfering in everyone’s business, I see,” Tanith smiled. “It’s nice that some things never change.”

Blackwall scratched the mabari’s stomach as he spoke, the huge dog lolling on its back. “The quiet life suits you, Cullen. It’s good to see you looking so well.”

“I could say the same for both of you,” he said. “Maker, it feels like years since the Exalted Council.”

“Must be coming up to it now,” Blackwall said. “Will it be two years this summer?”

“That’s right,” Tanith said. “And the world hasn’t fallen to pieces in our absence. Yet.”

Cullen looked out across the water, an odd smile on his face. “I’ve got some other news, actually,” he said. “Eva’s expecting.”

“Congratulations,” Blackwall said, clapping him warmly on the shoulder.

Tanith leaned forward to give Cullen a rare one-armed hug, something she had never done at Skyhold. “That’s wonderful news, Cullen. Send her our love.”

“I will,” he said. “Thank you. And that reminds me, I’ve got something for you. I’m not the only one who’s had his first taste of fatherhood.” Cullen stood and walked over to where his horse was tied.

Blackwall and Tanith looked askance at each other, unsure what the former commander was referring to.

“If he comes back with some Chantry fertility symbol for me—”

“I’ll set him on fire,” Tanith said.

Cullen returned a moment later with a wicker crate in his arms. He placed it carefully down on the ground in front of them, where it squeaked quietly. The mabari stood and sniffed it, wagging his tail.

“Open it,” Cullen said.

Tanith undid the buckle holding the lid closed and pushed it open. Inside, curled up in a pile of fresh straw, was a wriggling ball of fur. As the light hit it it stood up, shook and yawned, revealing a pink tongue and a row of tiny teeth.

“ _ Cullen _ ,” Tanith said, scooping the puppy gently out of its box and into her lap. “Is he for us?”

“He is. Thought you might need some company out here in the wild.”

“Now that’s a handsome lad.” Blackwall leaned over to scratch the pup behind its ears. He nodded to Cullen’s own mabari, who was panting proudly next to them. “One of his, I assume?”

“That’s right,” Cullen smiled wryly. “There’s a guard in the Highever barracks who has a mabari bitch. Turns out  _ he  _ had been doing some moonlight flits to visit her.”

“I’m glad he did,” Tanith stroked the puppy’s short fur, already feeling where the muscle would come through later. “If your father wasn’t so promiscuous you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“They eat a lot,” Cullen said. “A  _ lot _ . And they’re a bugger to train. But you couldn’t ask for a more loyal companion.”

Tanith looked up at Blackwall, grinning ear to ear. “Can we keep him?”

“Maker’s balls, you kept me,” he said. “I can share with another stray.”

“You’re not a stray, are you?” Tanith spoke indulgently to the pup in her lap, who was presently gnawing on her scarf. “You’re a  _ war dog _ .”

“There isn’t actually a war on any more,” Blackwall pointed out.

“I’m at war with the rabbits who keep eating my spinach,” Tanith said. “He’ll help with that.”

The puppy lifted a leg to scratch at its ear, curled up in Tanith’s lap, and promptly went to sleep.

**Climb**

It was over. Months of fighting, of risking their necks, of building an army out of nothing, and suddenly it was done. The celebration in the great hall that night had been a strange thing, pleasant, but with a touch of the unreal about it. No one had quite come to terms with the fact that they had won, and all looked a little confused as they drank and sang and ate themselves into a stupor.

Blackwall was pleased that Tanith had left the festivities early. Everything was too raw for him to celebrate properly, and he sensed that she felt the same. He went with her to her quarters — by the front stairs, for once, not minding who saw him go — and followed behind her as she climbed. He never tired of watching the curving movement of her hips, the lightness with which she moved. When they reached her chamber she drew him to her wordlessly, all her teasing and bravado left behind. They had come too close to losing one another that night, too close to losing everything. For now, being alive was enough.


	10. Fall, United, Found

**Fall**

The last blast from the Anchor had ripped the saarebas apart. A burst of green light, a shockwave that had knocked her companions to the ground, and then the qunari was gone. Tanith stood in the centre of the clearing, a sphere of energy crackling around her. As the smoke dissipated the Anchor flared once more and she fell to her knees, howling.

“Tan!” Blackwall scrambled to his feet and ran to her, but he could not get close. It was like trying to enter a burning building, the wall of heat that radiated from her pushing him backwards. The air tasted sharp, metallic. Her hand was blazing with light, she was screaming, the guttural cry of an animal going to slaughter.

“What’s happening to her?” Sera said. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.  _ Fuck all this _ .”

“Tanith.” Blackwall knelt on the ground, as close to her as he could manage. “Tan, can you hear me?”

If she could, she said nothing. She was dripping with sweat, hair plastered to her face, and she cried uncontrollably as she cradled her hand to her chest. Blackwall felt his heart rend at the sight of her, so close, so far away from him. He hadn’t thought that she would die. Not really. They had survived so much already that her death seemed impossible. But she was dying now. That he knew.

“Boss!” Bull cried, holding his arm up to shield his eyes from the light. “Get up! We’re almost there. Don’t give up on us now.”

Tanith shuddered and pitched forward, retched into the grass. The pulses of energy coming from the Anchor had slowed now, and Blackwall was able to cross the space between them. He gathered her to him, feeling her shaking in his arms, pressed his lips to her forehead.

Tanith leaned against him, her tears hot on his throat. “I don’t want to die here. Not in this place.”

“It’s just a little further, love,” he said. “You heard what the Viddasala said. Solas is tied up in all this somehow, he’ll know what to do.”

Tanith shook her head helplessly. “I can’t,” she gasped. “It’s  _ wrong _ , Blackwall, all of it. It’s all wrong. Solas, Vir Dirthara, Fen’Harel…. Creators, I thought we’d won. I thought it was over.” Tears spilled across her cheeks. “I was going to take my life back.”

“You still can.” He tried to believe the words as he spoke them. “You will. Once this is fixed—”

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” she whispered. “There’s no fixing it. Not this time.”

“Don’t  _ say _ that.” Blackwall held back his own tears, fighting to be her strength. “You’ve come through worse before. Just a few more steps, Tan. Come on, girl, get up!” He put his arm around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. She leaned heavily on her staff and, arms shaking, took one limping step towards the eluvian. It was only then that Blackwall realised how much damage she had taken in the last battle. If the Anchor didn’t kill her, her injuries might.

Tanith took another step forward and her hand flared again, bolts of energy cascading into the air around her. She cried out and almost lost her footing, barely managed to keep herself upright.

“Alright. That’s something, yeah?” Sera’s voice was shrill. “Solas will sort it out. He knows everything, doesn’t he?” She laughed, high and manic. “Fuck. Must be bad.”

With great effort, Tanith crossed the clearing to where the eluvian stood. For a moment she simply looked at it, its eerie light reflected in her dark eyes.

“Nearly there,” Blackwall said. “I’m right behind you.”

“Blackwall, If I—”

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say it.”

Tanith swallowed, nodded once. Then she turned back to the eluvian, put her ruined hand to the surface, and stepped through. He followed her.

All was light and roaring magic and nothingness, and then he was stumbling into a familiar room. It took him a moment to recognise the antechamber of the Winter Palace. The eluvian glowed again as Bull and Sera came through, then faded to dull blackness. They waited, but the mirror remained still and cold.

Tanith wasn’t there.

**United**

“What of the Dalish customs?” Josephine said, braiding embrium blossoms into Tanith’s hair. “I’m surprised you’re not following them.”

“If we were following Dalish customs I would be exiled for bonding with a shelmen,” Tanith said. “I’m fine without tradition.”

“Still,” she sighed. “I wish you had let me organise a cleric, at least.”

“I’m not Andrastian either. Besides, we have a cleric.”

“Varric Tethras is not a revered mother.”

“He’s Viscount of Kirkwall.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Details, Josie, details.”

Sera wandered into the room, already looking slightly tipsy. “You’re doing flowers? Are you serious?”

“I know, I know,” Tanith said. “Elfy.”

“Yeah. Pretty though. I’ll let you off this time. Special day, innit.”

“I’m glad you made it, Sera.”

“Whatever,” she snorted, turning to hide the pink spots on her cheeks. “Here, have you seen what the Chargers got you for a present? You’ll never—”

“It’s a dragon skull, isn’t it?”

“Well bollocks, that’s no fun. Your dog’s going mad for it out there. Like every birthday he’s ever had come at once.”

Josephine finished pinning the braids at the back of Tanith’s head and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There. I am no hairdresser, but I think that will do.”

“I’m sure it will. Thank you, Josie.”

“My pleasure, your— Tanith. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

They had been talking about it for a long time. Going with Chantry custom made little sense to them, and neither were they concerned about legitimacy in the eyes of the law. All that mattered to them, they had decided, was making this long-overdue commitment to one another. So they had sent messages to the four corners of Thedas inviting their friends to their quiet place by the lake, had built benches and salted fish and brewed beer in the woodshed, had finally relented when Josephine insisted on taking care of at least some of the arrangements.

They sat there now, by the lake shore; Dagna and Sera, Bull, Krem and the Chargers, Dorian, Cassandra, Cullen with his wife and child beside him. Adan had made it, and Threnn, and if anyone recognised the red-haired woman in the back row they politely neglected to mention it. To their surprise one of Blackwall’s old company had made the trip south, one of the few men he had managed to make amends with on his penitent’s journey. Tanith had tried to send word to her clan, but no response had been forthcoming; whether by choice or a failure to arrive she could not say. Regardless, the people who mattered were there.

Blackwall stood at the front of the gathering, and Tanith walked up alone to meet him. The look on his face as he watched her was an image she kept, hid away in that secret part of her heart that she turned to when the nightmares came. Varric stood next to him, grinning, while Corin dozed at his feet.

“Hello,” Tanith said as she came to a halt beside Blackwall.

“Maker, but you look beautiful,” he said.

Tanith tutted. “Please, vhenan, we’re in public.”

He laughed at her stupid joke, took her hand in his. Neither of them had dressed up for the occasion, but Tanith was still taken by how handsome he looked. The years had been good to him; honest labour had tanned his skin and broadened his shoulders, and the grey in his beard and at his temples suited him well. While she had found his melancholy nature endearing in the past, he wore contentment much better.

“Friends,” Varric said. “Honoured guests. Petty criminals, mercenaries, former spies, current spies, and the rest of you. We’re gathered here today to celebrate something we all assumed had happened years ago anyway.”

The crowd chuckled at that. Tanith supposed they were right to. There had been many times in the past few years where she and Blackwall had idly discussed the possibility, each expecting that the other would ask the question when they were ready. It was only after a rare night spent at the Gull and Lantern — and the vicious blackberry wine they had consumer rather too much of — that they had decided it was high time to do something about it. At some point on their long and stumbling walk home it had been agreed, and Tanith began writing letters the following morning.

“It’s been a long journey getting here,” Varric said. “Between them, these two have had more names and titles than the population of some small countries.” Another pause for laughter. “But — and not to get sentimental here — despite the pressing business of saving the world, they managed to find happiness among the rubble. And if that’s not a cause for celebration, I don’t know what is.”

“Too right,” Sera yelled, hiccuping halfway through the last word.

“Thank you, Buttercup,” Varric said. “If it’s all the same to you two I’d like to be half as drunk as she is, so do you mind if we skip to the good part?”

“Be my guest,” Tanith said.

“Alright then. Freckles, will you take this beard and the man attached to it to be your husband?”

She nodded, beaming. “I will.”

“And will you take this former world power and walking chaos magnet to be your wife?”

Blackwall squeezed Tanith’s hand. “Gladly.”

“By the power vested in me by — well, no one — I now pronounce you husband and wife. Freckles, do your thing.”

Before Varric had finished speaking Tanith was on her tiptoes, kissing Blackwall with slightly more fervour that propriety allowed. She laughed against his lips as their friends applauded, several of them heckling loudly above the clamour.

When they finally broke apart Blackwall held her at arm’s length to look at her. “If I’m not the luckiest man in the world.”

Tanith frowned at him. “Sorry. Who are you again?”

“Maker,” he chuckled. “You’ll make me regret this, won’t you?”

The ceremony devolved swiftly into a party, and by the time the sky began to dim everyone was well and truly in their cups. Bull had been challenging people to arm wrestle for the best part of an hour with no takers, Sera had nearly set fire to the woodshed, and even Cassandra was looking a little less composed than usual.

Tanith was feeling a little giddy from drink and dancing, and she went to sit at the end of the jetty to clear her head. It was a warm evening, and the lake was alive with the sound of crickets, frogs, birdsong. She dipped her toes in the water, enjoying the coolness of it against her skin. Years in this place, and still she loved it. From the covert reports she received from time to time she knew that this peace could not last forever; a storm was brewing in the north, and she would have to go to meet it. But for now, just for a little longer, she wanted to enjoy this.

Heavy footsteps on the planks behind her. She smiled.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.”

Blackwall sat down next to her, put his arm around her waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathed in the scent of him; wine and woodshavings and clean sweat. Nothing about being here with him felt any different than it had the day before, and she was glad of it.

“I still remember the first time I saw you,” he said. “Over there, on that shore.”

“Barging into your training session, demanding you join the Inquisition.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“How do you remember it?”

He moved his arm so she could settle against him more comfortably. “I remember looking at you and forgetting how to breathe,” he said. “I still do, sometimes.”

“Flatterer.”

“You’ve never complained.”

“No,” she said. “I haven’t.”

They sat there for a long time, watching the moon’s pale reflection pass across the water. Tanith wondered how she would have felt, if someone had told her that one day she would marry the false Warden she found wandering the Hinterlands. Pleased, she imagined.

Eventually their friends started calling for them, their voices echoing around the valley.

“I think we’re neglecting our guests,” he said. “We should go back.”

“We should,” Tanith sighed. “Help me up, then.”

Blackwall held her hand steady as she climbed to her feet, took her arm as they walked back towards the party.  _ My husband _ , she thought. That would take no getting used to at all.

**Found**

He knocked on the door of her quarters an hour after she had summoned him. Tanith had not waited to see whether he would come of his own volition; she knew that he would not. Guilt hung over him like a thundercloud, and it would not allow him to seek her out.

That evening she had scrubbed her skin raw as she bathed, wanting to feel present in her body again. Her grief, her anger, her sadness; these were not things to be shared. She had to make her own comfort.

When he arrived she was curled up in a chair by the fire, hair in damp ringlets around her face and a heavy robe keeping her warm. She didn’t answer his knock. Instead she stared into the flames and waited. This was not work she would do for him. Some of it he would have to do himself.

Eventually she heard the door creak open. He came to her slowly, silently, and she did not look up.

“My lady—”

“Don’t,” she said. Tanith leaned forward and rubbed her eyes, then stood to face him. In her stocking feet she was barely as tall as his shoulder, but still he quailed under her gaze. He looked wretched. Hair unkempt, bloodshot eyes, bruises on his wrists where the manacles had been. They must have brought him straight from the dungeons to her.

“What,” she said slowly, “did you think would happen, exactly?”

Blackwall hung his head. “I thought you would let me go.”

“Why?” Tanith was disgusted with him suddenly, anger flaring in her belly. “Why would I do that? Did you think I’d wake up to that note and go ‘oh, that’s the end of that then, never mind’?”

“You should have—”

“Should have what?” she said. “Forgotten about you? Left you to die? Would that have been better?”

“I didn’t think you’d find me.”

“ _ Please _ ,” she spat. “The Inquisition has the largest spy network in Thedas. You knew I’d find you. Do you know what I think?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked up at her, his eyes pleading.

“I think you wanted to be found.” Tanith folded her arms over her chest. “I think you wanted me to see you on those gallows. I think you wanted me to turn away from you then so you could die knowing I hated you.”

“But you didn’t,” he said. She had never heard him speak so quietly.

“No.” Tanith felt tears spring to her eyes. “Because I don’t hate you. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Tanith,” he said. “The things I did…”

“Were awful,” she said. “And you’ll have to carry that for the rest of your life. You’ll have to find a way to carry it. But I’m not carrying it for you. Whether you choose to love me is your decision, but you can’t keep me from loving you. You don’t get to make that choice.”

Her cheeks were hot with tears by then, and a moment later he was kissing them away, his mouth at her eyelids, her forehead, her neck. She clung to him fiercely, fingernails digging into the soft flesh at his throat, marking him, claiming him as her own. He dropped to his knees in front of her and buried his face in her stomach, cried as she ran her fingers through his knotted hair.

“Forgive me,” he breathed. “Forgive me.”

“Emma lath,” she said. “I already have.”


	11. Mask

Another day, another Orlesian party. Ever since their first appearance at the Winter Palace these events had been commonplace, invitations arriving with increasing frequency as the Inquisition grew in power. As often as she could Tanith sent Josephine in her stead, but this time she had been required to attend in person. The host was an noble who owned land throughout western Orlais, including a mountain pass which the Inquisition desperately required access to. So she had travelled out from Skyhold with Josephine and the rest of her entourage, not bothering to hide her irritation at being taken away from her duties.

For once, Blackwall had travelled with her. He did not often join her at these parties, preferring to remain at Skyhold where he could be useful, but this visit was likely to be a long one and she had requested that he accompany her. When Tanith made direct requests of him he rarely said no.

And so he stood at the edge of the ballroom as she mingled with nobles and merchant princes and politicians, the only elf in the room not carrying a serving tray. She played the Game well, in her own way. The highborn of Orlais did not know what to make of her; an elf, a mage, a woman who would under any other circumstances be considered beneath them, yet wielding more power and influence than most present would see in their lives. Blackwall could see how they bit their tongues, simpered while recoiling, confusing themselves with their conflicting emotions. Tanith played with them, exaggerating their assumptions when it suited her and contradicting them when it didn’t. She left them feeling both defensive and sycophantic, never really knowing why.

She always wanted him by her side at these events, but he invariably kept his distance. Tanith already had enough to contend with. The whispers about him, about his past, about the Inquisition’s intervention, were not things that her allies needed reminding of. He was content to watch the crowd from a distance, ready for her call.

As the evening progressed he caught sight of her in conversation with a young chevalier, her gestures animated as she talked. She looked especially beautiful that night; for once she had allowed Vivienne to select her wardrobe, and Madame de Fer had excelled in her work. Tanith’s hair was pinned up at the back of her head, leaving the elegant line of her neck bare, and her simple dress of green silk pooled around her shoulders and tapered at her waist. The mask she wore was simpler than many others in the room, a panel of silver filigree that cleverly mimicked the vallaslin below. It was not that he found her more attractive in finery than he did when she wore her ordinary garb; it was simply different, this new aspect of her compelling in its novelty. Blackwall had seen a dozen people, men and women, turn their heads at her that evening. That he was the only one she would take into her bed was a constant source of pride and disbelief.

She caught his eye then, over the chevalier’s armoured shoulder, let the faintest smile ghost across her lips. It was a look he recognised; lazy, suggestive. When this mood took her she demanded more, pushed further, held tighter. It was both blessing and challenge to him, to surrender all responsibility to her. To put himself at the mercy of her love.

The party went on too long, as they always did, and Blackwall retired to his room early. Etiquette did not allow for he and Tanith to share a room, but having affairs was a popular pastime among the Orlesian court and the two of them had been placed in chambers with an adjoining balcony. Blackwall poured himself a glass of brandy from the decanter left by his bedside — there were some perks to these occasions — and sat outside while he sipped it. The view over the ornamental gardens was pretty, he supposed, but it didn’t hold a candle to the rugged beauty of the Frostbacks. He could hear the strains of a harp drifting up from the ballroom downstairs, watched as a masked couple stole a kiss beneath a topiaried bower.

She arrived not long after he did, stepping through her chamber door and into the chill night air. For a moment she looked out across the gardens, then came to lean against the balustrade beside him. Her movements were slow, measured, like a wolf stalking its prey.

“Am I to assume the evening was a success, since you’re back so early?” he asked.

“Almost,” she said. “Aubigny wants me to go hunting with him in the morning. I think once that’s over with he’ll agree to our terms.”

“It’s a shame we don’t have the leisure to do such things together.”

Tanith laughed. “Do I detect a little jealousy?”

“Not in that way. I know you’re not susceptible to the charms of Orlesian lordlings. I just envy what they’re able to offer you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Privilege. Power. Money. All the follies that come with it.”

“I have more than enough of my own power,” she said. “And no interest in follies. Besides.” Tanith stole the glass from his hand and took a sip of the brandy. “There are other things you can do for me.”

“Such as?”

She said nothing, just smiled and turned her back to him. Her dress was fastened with a row of tiny pearls, each one no bigger than an apple seed. Blackwall knew a cue when he saw it. Tanith stood perfectly still as he undid each button, taking care not to rip any of the delicate thread. It took a painfully long time, but once it was finished she let the gown fall to the floor and stepped out of it. The shift she wore underneath was made of some light fabric, almost silver in the low light, and it fell over the curves of her like water.

Blackwall saw the gooseflesh prickling her arms. “You’re cold.”

“A little.” She turned, hooked a finger under his collar. “We should go inside.”

She half led, half pulled him into her chamber, the room notably more grand than his own. Tanith pulled the doors closed behind her and then circled him, trailing a hand across his chest, his shoulders, his back. Her touch was feather-light, almost careless, but it was enough to leave him aching.

Eventually she stopped in front of him, tugged gently at his shirt. “Off.”

He did as he was told; he knew the game that they were playing. Tanith was mercurial in her passions, as ever-changing as the sky, and when this mood came over her she was impossible to resist. Not that he would have wanted to. There was something liberating about it, a freedom in giving himself over to her entirely. These were some of the rare occasions where — just for a while — he could forget.

She sat on the edge of the bed as he undressed, watching closely, her head tiled to one side like a cat. While she attempted to keep her face dispassionate, the stern expression did not quite meet her eyes. They glittered behind the delicate silverwork of her mask, curious and hungry. It took Blackwall a great effort not to break his role and smile at her.

“I missed you tonight,” she said. “You never talk to me at these things.”

“You carry enough controversy around without me adding to it.”

“I’ve never kept you a secret, vhenan.”

“I know. It does me too much honour.”

Tanith walked over to him. She stood close enough for him to feel the heat from her body, but not quite close enough to touch. The nearness of her made him feel weak, tractable. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do if she asked it of him.

She reached up and stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, over his lips. “You always have such sad eyes,” she said. “Come here.”

Nothing was ever as he expected with her. When she kissed him it was gentle, almost reverent, her hands ghosting softly across his arms. Fine silver cold against his skin. She moved backwards, leading him, not breaking their embrace until he was kneeling on the mattress.

Tanith moved beside him, taking his wrists in her hands and holding them behind his back. She pressed her lips to the nape of his neck before whispering in his ear. “Do you want this?”

It was all he could do to speak at all. “Yes.”

There was the familiar shift in the air that Blackwall had come to recognise as magic, and a moment later he could feel his hands bound in place. He was certain that anyone looking would see nothing there, only an indentation in his flesh from some invisible ligature.

Tanith sat in front of him, legs curled beneath her, the movement pushing the hem of her shift up her thighs. She was all soft curves and freckled skin and silver, and he felt heavy with wanting her. Something sparked along her fingertips, flickered in the dim light. She started slow at first. A light touch from forearm to shoulder, trailing warmth behind it. Too hot to be comfortable but not so much to hurt. Blackwall shuddered a little at the pleasing strangeness of it, felt the bonds tighten at his wrists.

He had just begun to acclimatise to the heat when her fingers turned chill against his skin. The cold was harder to bear. It burned where she touched him, leaving him gasping for breath as she stroked along the inside of his thighs.

Tanith pulled back when he swore, the faint glow around her hand fading away. “Is that too much?” she asked.

He took a moment to catch his breath, considered her question seriously. She had held him here before, balancing on this precipice between torment and pleasure, and had never once sent him tipping over the wrong side. This was not to say that she never pushed the boundaries of what he could take; she did, often, but always carefully, always with his permission. It was that devotion, even more so than the pain, that he struggled to accept.

“I could try for a little more,” he said.

“Very well.”

Tanith straddled his hips to kiss him, her body warm and supple and close against his chest. Brandy on her lips. As she wrapped her arms around him she pressed her fingers into the muscle of his back, sent a sharp jolt of energy through her fingertips. He bucked against her, reeling from the shockwaves that rippled through his flesh, nearly faint with desire.

She held him through it, waited until his breathing had levelled before she reached back to dispel whatever magic was binding him.

“Is that better?” she asked, stroking the marks left on his wrists.

“Much,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. “You’re the one who needs rewarding, vhenan.”

Tanith pushed him back and kissed him again. She forged a path downwards, her mouth hot as she lingered at his stomach, his hips. For all her talk of reward she could not resist a little teasing. Blackwall laid against the cushions and let himself be overwhelmed by her. Her earlier ministrations had left his body raw, open to every sensation, and when she finally took him into her mouth it was like a fire set ablaze. He tangled his fingers in her curls, felt the velvet ribbon of her mask where it was tied tight at the back of her head. 

There had been women before her, of course, but none who had known how to make him feel this way. She treated lovemaking like an art, something to be studied and learned and practiced, and her knowledge grew with every night they spent together. But it was something more than that which made being with Tanith different; he trusted her. With his body, with his heart, with his life.

She drew away just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, sat up and pulled her shift up over her head. The only light in the room came from the moon outside, and it made a halo around her as she moved up and guided his cock inside her. She was warm and slick and ready, the tiny sound she made as she settled onto him sweeter than any music. Blackwall pushed himself up on one arm and wrapped the other one around her, needing her close, needing to feel her skin against his.

Tanith rocked her hips with aching slowness, cupping his face in her hands as she kissed him. No sting of magic cut through the air now. Only her, touching him with a tenderness he had long thought he would never feel. As their movements grew more fervent Blackwall reached up and untied the ribbon in her hair, tossing the mask to one side. For this, he needed to see her.

He came with Tanith’s name on his lips, repeating it like a litany as he collapsed against her. The world had shrunk and faded at the edges, leaving only their bodies and the space between them. He waited for the guilt, those feelings of unworthiness that so often washed over him at these times, but for once they did not materialise. All was gratitude and elation and a perfect, simple calm.

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” Tanith said, touching her forehead to his.

He smiled at her. “I can always stand to hear it again.”

“I love you.”

For the first time, he believed her.


End file.
